


Down in a Mirror

by wyrmy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Atmospheric, Healthy Communication Skills (for once), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Relationship, Smoking, Wordcount: 100-1.000, no actual sex scene though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmy/pseuds/wyrmy
Summary: a Tuesday morning. 5am. Crowley should be arriving soon. Aziraphale waits with great anticipation and not a little guilt.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Down in a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a bookstore and when i came home this whole thing was in my head verbatim. it seemed a shame not to post it. title is from a Jandek song. I don't recommend you listen to it.

It was a Tuesday. Sometime after 5 AM, one of Aziraphale’s favorite times of day. The city was waking up and the sky was going grey, and he felt with a sudden piercing strength the desire to have Crowley there with him. That is to say, he missed Crowley. 

The last time they had been together, Crowley had accused him of being cold-hearted. Early the next morning after their tryst, Aziraphale had hurried him out of the back door. Crowley, hair still on end, cigarette in his mouth, had said, Don’t you have a heart, angel? Let me stay another hour.

And Aziraphale had said no. How could he explain that his superiors visited the bookshop and regularly complained that it smelled of Demon? How could he explain that the smell, which was really a very pleasant one, was overpowering in the whole of the flat upstairs, should worst come to worst and Gabriel get up there? How could he say, I don’t want either of us to get hurt, when he was hurting both of them?

He’d just looked up and down the alley and then pushed his lover the rest of the way out the door.

Of course he had a heart. Of course he loved Crowley. But he had loved him so consistently, for so long, that it had faded into the background of his mind. Loving Crowley was not like sitting every day in the same comfortable chair. It wasn’t like automatically dabbing a little cologne here and there. It wasn’t like wearing a vest under his shirt until he didn’t feel it anymore. Loving Crowley wasn’t like any of the other things he did reliably, automatically, eternally. 

But it was true that he wasn’t always deliberate about it. The mindless monotony of wishing, five or six times a day, that Crowley was beside him wore him down. He took everything for granted, resented it even. Being in love, in Aziraphale’s experience, was a lot more pain than pleasure. It was at least six months between clandestine meetings, if not more, and even then, they never risked more than twenty-four hours, behind closed doors and drawn curtains. 

Today was the day, and Crowley should be here any moment.

Aziraphale, sitting in his favorite chair, hair combed, tie straightened, took another sip of his cocoa. 

Patience is a virtue. Patience is a talent. Patience is a skill.

*

Later, he lay beside Crowley in bed, disheveled and sweaty. Crowley took two cigarettes between his lips and lit both at once, passed one over. 

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale. 

The light was coming in through the curtains, grey and weak. Autumn light. It was likely raining outside. The smoke was blue. 

“You want to try to go for round three, or should we play house for a bit?” Crowley pretended to mock domesticity, but he secretly loved it. Making tea two cups at a time, lying with his feet in Aziraphale’s lap, eating meals together that no self-respecting restaurant would serve: Crowley’s awful cooking.

“I’m not heartless,” said Aziraphale, abruptly overcome. 

“No, you’re not, angel.”

“I do have a heart. I care about you.” He took a long drag, trying to get back any of the warmth of afterglow.

“Let’s not ruin our time together. Please.” Crowley’s voice was rough.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s eyes on him as he breathed deeply, trying to get his emotions back under control. He opened his eyes enough to watch his cigarette glow as he took a drag.

He leant across Crowley to stub it out in the ashtray, and shifted closer when he was done.

“I don’t want us to be parted,” he said.

“I know.”

“It’s not what I want that’s important. It’s your life.”

Crowley’s lips thinned.

“We need to remember that we do… love each other. That’s all I meant. Even if we argue.”

“I know you love me, angel. I just wish that things were otherwise. Maybe I blame you too much for that.”

They stayed in bed for hours that day. It rained.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
